Sword and Dagger
by Kibasgirltsumi
Summary: Cullen and the new Inquisitor meet in passing, but both are curious about the other. As they finally get to know each other, their relationship turns into something more. A series of chronological one-shots as their relationship develops.
1. The Wanderer

_**Cullen, Day 1**_

A traveler was strewn on the floor, in the middle of a hand-drawn circle. Runes, elven language perhaps, pulsed on the edges, as if it were underwater. The traveler's hand was splayed open wide, where a hot green light spilled from his fingertips. It looked to Cullen like an explosion, held back by an invisible barrier, slowly, slowly, burning out. The traveler himself looked pained, struggling to remain unconscious.

"You do not need to be here," said the apostate. He sat cross-legged beside the traveler, holding his staff across his lap as the stone glowed hotly.

Cullen disregarded him, though he felt immense trepidation by standing so close to the magic. "What kind of magic is this?"

"An advanced containment spell. Keeping that magic from tearing her, and likely all of Haven, apart."

Cullen's face tightened in disgust, resonating deep into his core. "You'd better make sure of it, apostate."

"And yet here you are distracting me," he quipped, not looking away once.

Cullen left quickly after that, burning for his sword. He took a calming breath and made his way back to the war room to discuss what to do next. The truth was, there was little they could do until the prisoner work. He-… _she_ , would hopefully be able to answer their questions.

* * *

 _ **Lavellen, Day 1**_

The young woman stared into her lap through half-lidded eyes, seated heavily on a tough stone floor. Guards surrounded her, well-armed but at relative ease. Her eyes darted back and forth, trying to count their numbers without giving away her consciousness. Again, she woke to an unfavorable situation, but a repetitive one. Shackles and soldiers. She would find a way out like she'd done before. Patience and deft hands were her best weapons, even though she would have greatly preferred daggers.

Her left hand began to burn and itch, as if a spider had bitten down on it, and she cringed away from the sharp pain. She twisted her wrist and opened her fingers- and a spark of emerald green flared from her skin, illuminating the room, and reflecting in the drawn blades.

The doors before her opened inwards, and a group of women and men marched inside. A tall warrior circled the prisoner, pausing to lean in towards her shoulder. She was greeted with the threat, "Tell me why I shouldn't kill you now."

Patience, she reminded herself.

She stepped away, continuing to slowly pace. "The Conclave is destroyed. Everyone who attended is dead. Except you."

The prisoner stared back, masking her horror with an indifferent, practiced expression. Dead? What in gods had happened?

"Explain this!" The warrior shouted, snatching the prisoner's wrist. Her hand pulsed sharply and flared green, before the warrior thrust it back down.

"I can't," the prisoner said stiffly, though urgently. "I don't know what you're talking about," she said.

The woman raised the blade threateningly. "What do you mean you _can't_?"

"I don't remember!" she shouted, lifting her bound hands upward. "I don't know _what_ it is, or _how_ it got there."

"You're lying!" The woman grabbed the prisoner's coat, reaching to the skin underneath with a fierce grip.

"Enough, Seeker," a man sternly shouted.

The prisoner swiveled her head to see a broad-shouldered human, clad in heavy armor. He looked away when her eyes caught his.

"He's right, Cassandra," said another woman, quickly pulling the warrior away. "We need her."

The second woman, red-haired and dressed in a chain-mail coat, looked back at the prisoner. "What do you remember? From the beginning." Her voice had more reason to it, but still the serious tone that demanded an answer the disoriented prisoner could not recall.

She closed her eyes a moment and tried. There were blurs of remembrance, and she grasped at them. "I…remember running."

* * *

 _ **Cullen, Day 2**_

Lelianna and Josephine pulled Cullen aside as Cassandra took the prisoner away. They were going to the forward camp to see the Conclave's destruction themselves. If that didn't jog the prisoner's memory, nothing would.

"What do you think?" the women asked him.

"About the prisoner?" Cullen clarified. "I think if she isn't executed for her crimes, the people of Haven will do it themselves."

"So you think she's guilty?"

Cullen crossed his arms, and stared up at the pulsing green of the Breach. "Is she a mage? Don't elves have more proficiency for magic?"

Josephine shook her head. "Not always, Commander. But I agree that it would take immense magic to commit this crime."

"She was found with daggers," Lelianna added.

For some reason, that reassured him. Not a mage. "That doesn't make her innocent," Cullen started. "But…I'm not ready to blame her for all of this."

"That's easier for you to say than some," Lelianna said bitterly.

Cullen put a hand on her shoulder, but it did not relax her. "I have to go." she hurried off, flanked by two more scouts that followed her up the narrow game trails to the Conclave.

"It will not be easy proving her innocence," Josephine said.

"If she is," Cullen corrected.

Hours later, soldiers returned to Haven, with news that the rift in the Conclave had been sealed. Cullen inquired about the prisoner, and his first reports claimed she had died in battle. One told her she had died trying to seal it, others said a stray arrow caught her in the neck. They were intricately detailed for being contrasting stories.

Eventually, long after the sun had gone down, the truth was carried back in Cassandra's arms. How tiny the prisoner looked then- her heavy winter layers pressed flat by Cassandra's grip. How silly Cullen felt for mistaking her for a man.

"She died, then?" Culled asked, jogging alongside Cassandra.

Cassandra shook her head firmly. "No, she did not. But she is exhausted." Cassandra slowed as they approached Haven. "She is innocent, Cullen. I saw it for myself. Divine Justinia was killed by a demon, and this- _she_ …tried to save her." Cassandra's soft gaze steeled as she looked away from the woman in her arms. "She failed, clearly, but the destruction is not her's."

Again, Cullen felt relief. He slowed as Cassandra approached the healer's cabin. "How did she survive?"

"The mark, perhaps. _That_ , for certain, is magic."

Cullen frowned again, narrowing his eyes to see the dull glow from the prisoner's limp hand. They had seen her use daggers, but could she still be a mage?

"Inform our people. She is not the enemy. She sealed the rift and agreed to ally herself with the Inquisition." Then, softly, Cassandra added, "I believe Andraste sent her to us, Cullen. In these terrible times, perhaps she was ushered forth by the Maker." Cassandra lifted her head and carried her inside. The door shut behind her, extinguishing the light, and leaving Cullen alone in the dark quiet.


	2. The Elf

_**Cullen, Day 3**_

Hours later, soldiers returned to Haven, with news that the rift in the Conclave had been sealed. Cullen inquired about the prisoner, and his first reports claimed she had died in battle. One told her she had died trying to seal it, others said a stray arrow caught her in the neck. They were intricately detailed for being contrasting stories.

Eventually, long after the sun had gone down, the truth was carried back in Cassandra's arms. How tiny the prisoner looked then- her heavy winter layers pressed flat by Cassandra's grip. Cullen felt embarrassed for mistaking her for a man. And now…

"She died, then?" Culled asked, jogging alongside Cassandra.

Cassandra shook her head firmly. "No, she did not. But she is exhausted." Cassandra slowed as they approached Haven. "She is innocent, Cullen. I saw it for myself. Divine Justinia was killed by a demon, and this- _she_ …tried to save her." Cassandra's soft gaze steeled as she looked away from the woman in her arms. "She failed, clearly, but the destruction is not her's."

Again, Cullen felt relief. He slowed as Cassandra approached the healer's cabin. "How did she survive?"

"The mark, perhaps. _That_ , for certain, is magic."

Cullen frowned again, narrowing his eyes to see the dull glow from the prisoner's limp hand. They had seen her use daggers, but could she still be a mage?

"Inform our people. She is not the enemy. She sealed the rift and agreed to ally herself with the Inquisition." Then, softly, Cassandra added, "I believe Andraste sent her to us, Cullen. In these terrible times, perhaps she was ushered forth by the Maker." Cassandra lifted her head and carried her inside. The door shut behind her, extinguishing the light, and leaving Cullen alone in the dark quiet.

* * *

 _ **Cullen, Day 5**_

Commander Cullen jolted awake as his head rocked backwards. He caught the edge of the desk and wiped his eyes. The candle had burned halfway out, wax pooling over the desk onto the edge of the inventory report he'd been analyzing. He wiped the parchment and cursed, struggling to remember where he'd been before dozing off. Yes, boot bindings…

Again, his head started to tip, and he slammed his hands on the desk with a low shout. Cullen stood and left the war room. The Inquisition had been revived, and there was too much to attend to before he could sleep easy, or at all. The violet sky hardly contrasted with the dark horizon, but the snow held enough light for him to see. It was early morning, perhaps an hour until dawn.

His stomach ached needily, he'd skipped dinner after all. Has someone brought him a meal? He couldn't remember. Only their blasted deficiency in swords. They had plenty of shields, but what good would their defenses do if they could never counterattack? Perhaps they could nail them into Haven's walls.

He chuckled at the thought, and massaged his eyes. Food, then. He would eat, and return to work before it was time to train the new recruits.

He was curious to see the lights in the kitchen. Perhaps the servants were preparing breakfast already. There were subtle scents of honey and elfroot (and dirt?), and sure enough, an elf stood beside the hearth, their arms lazily draped over the counter, close to the low flames.

Cullen cleared his throat and took a seat on the opposite end. "Something, anything actually, if you don't mind. A cut of bread with nug would suffice." Definitely not his favorite, but he wouldn't be picky.

The elf spun, and Cullen recognized them with a start- the prisoner. The elf. He hadn't even got her name yet, but the scars were enough. The scars, and those wild-animal eyes. She was not necessarily young, but there was a frightful energy about her- like a ram, muscles bunched, alert, and ready to flee.

And she was holding a hunk of cheese, the honey jar open at her elbow and her startled expression was close to guilt. "I, uh- I could, if you like…?"

Cullen was already walking towards the cured meats. "No, no, I apologize. I mistook you for a servant." He cut a thick slice of nug meat and wrapped it around a slice of bread.

"Because I'm an elf?" she asked.

Cullen felt the prickle of discomfort. "Well, yes, I apologize. Most of our servants are."

She looked away, her tangled hair covering her face. "I see."

He wished he could see her expression, but it was impossible. "Well, excuse me, then."

The air felt chilly outside of the kitchen, and Cullen was relieved to be gone from it. As he returned, he realized he'd forgotten to ask for her name.

* * *

 _ **Lavellen, Day 30**_

Lavellen had never been inside a war room before Haven. Even at clan meetings, they just sat in a circle and drew out strategies in the dirt between them. Lavellen had also rarely been invited to take part in such meetings. Though she was the daughter of the Clan Leader, it had been decided long ago that she would not be the next in line. A break of tradition was not something the Dalish were keen to, but Lavellen had been successful in persuading them. It had been easy, even. She just had to be herself.

But in Haven, her advisors looked to her for guidance and leadership. An unfamiliar feeling, but she listened to their advice keenly and trusted her instinct. At least she was not unfamiliar to war.

The room was vast, yet the soldiers crowded over a wide table, sketched with intricate maps and metal pieces signaling their forces. It was meager, even Lavellen could tell. They could not be in more than three places at once, or their troops would wear too thin. Cullen gave his suggestions, as did the other advisors. More than not, she sided with Lelianna and the Commander, eager to gather resources before sending forces into the field.

Soon, their armory was ripe with metals and tools for crafting, and the armsmen were hard at work forging new weapons for the soldiers. The sound of hot metal against the anvil was music to Cullen's ears. He was reassured by the sounds, knowing that they would be well stocked soon enough.

"We must make ourselves present," Josephine insisted. She had become frustrated at the lack of missions to extend their reach, and form alliances. "Our advancement in the Hinterlands has been successful, and our stables are full of horses again, but we must make allies. What good is a full armory with no soldiers to wield them?"

"What do you suggest then?" Lavellen asked, regarding the collection of pieces gathered in the hilly terrain of the mountains.

"We must take the fallow mire, and Storm Coast. Our scouts there have reported not only rare ore, but mercenaries. It is time for us to extend our hand."

Lavellen nodded, and quickly pointed to the sea, decided. "The Storm Coast it is. A mercenary I have spoken with told me about his troop. They would be willing to ally with us if we go meet them."

"Mercenaries," Cullen scoffed. "No honor. If they find someone else with more coin-"

"How do you think alliances begin? Better to recruit the strays than someone else's loyal hound," Lelianna interjected.

Cullen frowned at the metaphor, but it made their situation more vivid. He nodded, reluctantly. "Fine then. We should go see them for ourselves."

Lavellen nodded. "I agree. Cassandra, Varric…" she smiled, "and Sera, I think. We'll go."

Cullen's frown deepened. "She's an odd one."

"And a fantastic judge of character," Lavellen added with a grin. "She'll help us determine if this group is worth recruiting."

* * *

 _ **Cullen, Day 35**_

A few days later, Lavellen's party returned, musty and damp, but in high spirits. They were not alone. An eclectic group of warriors joined Haven, following their quinari leader. Then the group vanished, and Cullen only found them later that evening in the Tavern, Inquisitor included, steadily downing mead and boisterously laughing.

When Lavellen saw him, her eyes lit up, and he thought maybe the two were different colors of amber, and she jumped forward out of her chair. Her flushed face was grinning eagerly. "Cullen! Came to join us?" she asked breathlessly, holding a flask of mead between them.

He put a hand up to keep it from spilling on himself. "Oh, no, not really, I- I was just curious,"

"He's curious, eh?" the quinari spoke, lowering his own flask. He was massive, battle-worn. "Well, pull up a chair."

"Yeah, curly," said Varric, leaning away from his seat against the wall. "We've only just started."

"I-, I really must get back," he tried.

The Inquisitor was not having it. " _Culleeeeen_!" Lavellen whined, taking her seat again. "You never spend time with us."

He scratched the back of his head, embarrassed by her loud proclamation. All eyes were on him. Finally, he unclipped his coat and hung it beside Varric's. "Perhaps one drink, then," he agreed, and Lavellen lifted her flask to cheer. The entire group copied her, and Cullen was handed an overfull flask just in time to clank glasses.

The last time he'd drank, it was to sate lyrium's bite. He'd shut his eyes and opened his throat, and wished it to be over fast. Now, the night seemed to pass too quickly, among the pleasant company and atmosphere. Iron Bull was a great conversationalist, despite his rough appearance. Cullen found himself leaning forward beside Varric, debating _Kirkwall's economic policies_ with the mercenary before Sera interrupted them with another round.

Cullen thought they all had just met and were still strangers, but it seemed they had already camped and battled together before returning to Haven. Nothing bonded soldiers better.

The quinari Iron Bull was a steady drinker, and it seemed Lavellen's goal to keep up. That night, Lavellen draped herself over Cullen, pouring him refills and explaining how dalish parties didn't allow for empty glasses, or to pour them for yourself. She smelled fresh like the ocean, but her hair had the sharp metallic scent of blood. He asked her about her home, and clan, and she seemed to sober a bit.

"I volunteered to go to the Conclave." She leaned back and exhaled, her breath hot in the cool air. "They didn't understand me, not really. I'm the Keeper's daughter, but no mage. I will not be the next clan leader." She used words Cullen didn't understand, and occasionally she lapsed into elvish and he was lost entirely. Then at all once, she composed herself and turned to him instead. "And you, Cullen? Tell me something about _you_."

He returned the smile as if it were a game. "What have you to know?" When she kept waiting, he rolled his shoulders and reached for something interesting. "I once lived in Kirkwall, as a captain of the Templars."

"Me too," she beamed. "Well, not as a captain. But, Kirkwall all the same."

"Kirkwall?" Varric piped in. It was his hometown as well. "Really, Lavellen? Away from your clan?"

She shied away from all the attention, though calmly. "Ah, well it was a different time. Cullen, did you ever try the cakes from the shop above the Blooming Rose?"

He was overcome with a furious blush, and Varric let out a chortle into his flask.

"I-I usually avoided that area," Cullen stammered.

"I heard they're phenomenal," Varric continued. "Maybe a little sweet, _dainty_ ," he elbowed Cullen discreetly as he spoke, and the human kept his mouth tight.

It was then Sera asked why the sky was getting lighter. "It's _purple_ now instead of black!" she said angrily, as if the change had personally offended her. "I hate purple…"

"Well, Iron Bull," Lavellen said, swiftly rising to her feet and clasping the man's wrist. Cullen was surprised that she did not so much as wobble. She must have weighed more in mead than blood.

Iron Bull took hers in a firm grip as well. "And you, Inquisitor Lavellen."

"Let's save the next night like this for after we kill that dragon," she said, and the quinari beamed eagerly.

"Better not keep me waiting too long."

* * *

 _ **Cullen, Day 36**_

Lavellen approached him the next day, her hair neatly braided, but the dark circles under her eyes hinted at the previous night.

Cullen's head ached as well, but he'd had his dose of lyrium for the day and felt revived. "Ah, hello."

"Hello, Commander," she greeted. "I was meaning to speak with you." Her words seemed rehearsed. "Is now good?"

"Yes, of course." A lightness tickled his chest. He was deeply curious what she would say and there was an idea tugging at the back of his mind, but he pushed it down, drowning it out.

"I apologize for the way I behaved last night," she began, again so practiced. "I hope you weren't made uncomfortable."

He frowned. "No, of course not."

"I spoke ill of my clan, like a child. And-augh…" she rubbed at her nose, fighting a headache.

"Lavellen, I think it was a good decision. Drinks create stronger bonds. You were introducing our new allies to Haven. If not tradition, a good decision on your part."

Lavellen hadn't doubted an evening, night, and early morning spent at the tavern would help everyone become familiar. She vaguely remembered laying across Cullen's lap to refill his flask, intentionally curving her back, lidding her eyes…She felt a fool of herself. "I apologize for…my behavior," she said slowly.

Cullen remembered her _behavior_ as well, and the smell of blood. "Ah, you…" He was at an unexpected loss. He wanted to tell her not to apologize, but that would insinuate he _enjoyed_ it.

His longer than normal pause made her skittish, and she backed out of his study. "It won't happen again," she said, and fled behind the shut door. He could hear her running.

Cullen groaned and pushed his chin into his hand. His headache returned.


End file.
